


De Profundis

by Kyndred_Raven (Ravenna_Corvin)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:40:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3756502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenna_Corvin/pseuds/Kyndred_Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fade isn't stagnant. It has a will and life of its own. When Aliyah Lavellan suspects that someone may be stalking her in her dreams, she risks much to find out the truth. Is this another trick of the Fade? Or is her life - and her destiny as Inquisitor - about to change? (Solas/Lavellan)</p>
            </blockquote>





	De Profundis

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story is dedicated to my friend AryBoBary. She is an incredible artist who recently gifted me with some cover art for my story "Astray". She is always inspiring me to keep writing. Her birthday is coming up, and I wanted to do something for her, so I offered to write a story featuring her Inquisitor. Before I knew it, the drabble ran away with me and became a mini-series.
> 
> This is Part 1 of a multi-part series. I'm planning to have at least 3-4 parts, so please stay tuned!

**.**

**.**

**.**

What will I be missing today?

My lungs?

My arms?

My legs?

My heart?

Will my bones turn to milky white liquid and disintegrate inside my body? Will my muscles turn to stone and make a statue of me? Will my body harden and become living stone?

Perhaps.

Or maybe the shadows in my heart will spread. Maybe they will devour first my organs then my skin. Maybe they will turn to vines and root me to this spot. What then? Will I finally find peace? Will I finally find relief from this restlessness festering in the bottom of my soul? Or will I remain standing here for all eternity, facing the lifeless winds of the Fade alone?

How many years have to pass before I let myself forget? How many decades? How many centuries? Once, my people were immortal. With the power of the  _Vir'abelasan_ , I could, perhaps, come upon this gift again. But, why should I bother? What use is it to me? What use is an eternal life when I will have no one by my side to share it with? The friends I have and treasure now will die before me. Time will change the land and my Inquisition's role in it until I will hardly recognize either. At that point, will I even  _want_ to live on? Will I still be harboring these feelings? Will I still be incubating all these seeds of doubt and regret?

With these things in mind, my eyes open to take in my surroundings. The Fade is waiting, a maiden whose trembling lips are parted on a gasp of anticipation. If I could compare the Fade to anything, it would be a mirror – a glass that reflects both truth and lies; a sea of reflections that spins wishes, dreams, and fears into a tapestry both wonderful and terrifying. It hungers. It yearns to take shape. It envies those who visit it only in their dreams. For now, it is empty. For now, it searches through my core, rummaging around and disturbing things best left alone.

I feel it the moment that it finds what it seeks. The colors of the landscape turn from emerald to grey. The sky rumbles with invisible thunder, and the air trembles with a hum of excitement. It reaches inside me and pulls bits and pieces from the dusty shelves of my memories, throwing ingredients together into a toxic concoction like a half-crazed alchemist. Good and bad. Warm and horrible. Sweet and bitter. Delicious and vile. Everything blends and mixes together, stitches of recollections weaving together to create a nightmare that is different each night that I witness it.

 _What torture will I face today?_  – I wonder. Will I walk the dunes of the Hissing Wastes, shiver from the unforgiving cold, and remember how  _he_  warmed my palms between his own? Will I spend the night in the rotting walls of a dying tree, remembering how  _he_  used his magic to heal the bark? Will I lay awake beneath a blanket of glittering stars in the bosom of the Wilds, recalling how  _he_  held my hand as he traced the constellations and told me of their legends? Will I relive my battle with Corypheus, triumph over him with bruised and battered limbs, then turn to find myself alone in an abyss?

Or will it be simpler this time? Will the Fade choose to bring the message of my loneliness home with a different kind of scenery? Will I rot in the cells of Haven waiting for my execution at the hands of Seekers who call me a murderer? Will they all wear the faces of my friends? Will there be no one there to tell them that I am innocent? Or will I visit battlefields that have no memories and no dreams? Will I search through the rivers of time again and again – fruitlessly – for the smallest signs of  _his_  passing? Or will I stand among the lifeless stones of an age-old ruin, my toes tickled by fresh grass, and shed a tear as I look upon  _his_  tombstone? I already know what words the dream will carve there. I know what words I'll whisper to the inky blackness.

_He died alone._

_He died for nothing._

_He died without_ _**you** _ _._

Whatever happens, I know I can't escape. I used to fight this torture. I used to resist it. But, now I know better. I understand that no matter what I do, I can't stop my nightmares. I can't simply  _choose_  to forget. I can't  _choose_  to let go. Those are responsibilities left only to my heart – a part of me that is already as lifeless as the corpses on the battlefield I've left behind over the years.

 _Then close your eyes –_ my inner warrior demands.  _Don't look._  But, asking for that is the same as asking me to stop my breathing or to still the pulsing of my blood. I  _have_  to keep my eyes open. I  _have_  to look. Because how else will I see him? How else will I let myself think, even if only for a moment, that he's here with me? Even if all I see is memories where he is absent, at least it's evidence that he existed. At least it's  _something_. Even I can admit that sounds pathetic. Sometimes, I wish that I could feel nothing at all. Not my love for him. Not my hatred for him. Not even my envy for the freedom he has obtained. And there  _is_  nothing sometimes. In the echoes of my dreams, in the silence of the Crossroads, in the banalities of the meetings in the War Room, and even in the peace and order of my patrols at night…

…there is nothing.

Each time that I open my eyes – whether I'm dreaming in the Fade or plowing through the day in waking agony – something is always missing. It's been this way for months now. Ever since the day of the Inquisition's glorious victory. Ever since the day when I turned to smile at the man I loved and found nothing but a bone-deep emptiness. I knew then that I would never be the same. I am a heart, half broken. I am a chalice, half empty. I am incomplete. I am chipped and cracked, like crushed pottery inside a dilapidated Elven ruin. Nothing fills the void that bleeds through the veins and capillaries of my body and stretches its roots deep into my soul. Nothing  _could_ , except…

…no.

I can't. I won't. Just  _thinking_  of his name leaves me breathless. I must accept this now. It's just another burden. Like my leadership. Like the failed mantle of First. Like the gift of my magic. I am hollow, and I must accept that there is nothing that could ever fill this void again.

_Don't do this to yourself._

I don't intend to.

I must accept my pain, but that doesn't mean that I'll let it walk all over me. As the scenery around me warps and contorts into a mess of blurry shapes and patterns, I turn away and burst into a run. I leap, I sprint, I Fadestep, and I use my magic to pull myself farther and farther forward, hoping to stay one step ahead of the Fade and its wiles. I move forward into the vast emptiness before me, running from my memories as much as the thoughts that prompt them. Yet, no matter how quickly I move, the Fade's will follows. The shadows bend and twist around my ankles, tripping me up and tempting me to turn around.

 _Aliyah…_ a voice whispers, so familiar that it sickens me. I ignore it and keep running. Not today.

 _Please, vhenan…_ it pleads, cracks of emotion splintering the vibrations of  _his_  voice. But instead of making me turn, the words bring up another memory. I gasp as the cold and venomous words wash through my system, ringing and echoing around me as though I've stepped beneath the vaulted ceilings of Skyhold's chapel.

 _I've distracted you from your duty…_ the voice echoes. _It will never happen again._

_Never again…_

_Never again…_

Why is it that when shit hits the fan, I always return to that moment in my life? Why is it that when my thoughts turn towards darkness, they always smother me in those Maker-damned words? I've had sadder things happen. More painful things. More horrible things. I've been hurt worse and been abandoned with more cruelty. I've had people hate me for my race, had  _shems_  spit at me just because I was born different. And more. So much more. Yet all those moments hide within the cracks in my heart, making way for this one accursed event the second I remember it.

_Dread Wolf take my foolishness._

The Fade immediately picks up on my emotions. It senses my need and attempts to reflect my desires. I look down at my feet, watching as the shapeless emerald landscape ripples beneath my boots and transforms into cobblestone. Walls grow from the ground, colors flying in and splashing lines and shapes onto their surface with incredible detail. They ascend into the sky, turning and twirling until they form a tower. Above, I hear the beating of the wings of messenger birds and the chattering of the librarians. Beyond the windows there, I hear the chiming of chapel bells. The smell of herbs and salves wafts to my nostrils; the scent of fresh inks and paints makes my soul ache.

Nothingness transforms into a room that I know all too well. The owner of this place left without taking a thing. Not supplies for travel, not his research or materials, not his books or scrolls. Not even the various staves he'd crafted during his stay. His quarters are untouched, the items that made up his life left out in an arrangement that speak of patience and invitation. Those scrolls are still waiting for him to return. Those paintings are still waiting to be finished, the staves waiting to be picked up and used.

As if he would return.

As if he would suddenly reappear one day and apologize, telling me how wrong he was and how much he needed me in his life.

Lunacy.

Foolishness.

Or as Varric would say – complete and utter bullshit.

I'm not a child. I am the Inquisitor. It is my job to see the world as it really is – without embellishments or masks. I know he won't return. I know he won't apologize.

I walk to the desk in the center, trailing my fingertips over the top. When I pull back my hand, it's covered in a sheen of chalky dust. Seeing the lines I left behind, I stifle an urge to shape them into something meaningful.

_If you will not close your eyes and hide, then…_

I reach back down and hesitate for a moment, overcoming my initial fear. Should I face my pain instead of running from it? Should I let the Fade reflect the thing I fear the most? I take a long, shuddering, breath, envisioning my mental barriers as tangible fences that sink downwards. As I let down my guard, I hear his voice again.

_The Veil is thin here…_

The memory grows, blooms like flowers in the pitter patter of raindrops. Then, sounds of a waterfall. Feet padding through moist sand. My lungs hurt. Maybe I shouldn't do this.

_Can you feel it on your skin, tingling?_

My eyes close; my hand moves on its own. Palm covered in cold sticky sweat, I start at the left then move to the right, ghosting a finger on the table. As it glides along, it leaves a dark trail through the dust.

… **S…O…**

_You are unique…you have a beautiful spirit…you change everything…_

… **L…A…**

_I never thought to find someone who could draw my attention from the Fade…I wanted to show you what you mean to me…_

… **S…**

_I'm sorry…perhaps in another world…_

I open my eyes. My writing glares at me from the table, my finger poised on the edge of the last letter.

… **Solas…**

Seeing the name hurts. Saying it will hurt much worse. Despite that, my lips move as though by instinct, wrapping around the syllables in loving, halting, caresses. The air shifts around me and grows heavier, like the atmosphere before a storm. I open my mouth and forget to breathe as I sense magic. Powerful. Old. Unique as the moon and as familiar to me as the sight of my own reflection. It's the last thing I expect to feel, and I'm not ready. Even in a hundred years, I won't be ready.

But the Fade, it seems, could care less about my sensibilities or what I want.

" _Vhenan_ ," someone breathes against my ear. The hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end. My entire body breaks out in goosebumps. Is this really happening? I can't be sure.

 _This isn't real…_ my voice reverberates through time.

 _That's a matter of debate…_ another voice joins in.

No. No, no, no.

This can't be real. It can't. It has to be a trick – a cruel illusion that's come here to test the limits of my sanity. Just as I think that, something presses against my hands. The touch begins at the tips of my hands – a gentle pressure that echoes along ten points, one for each of my fingers. Then, it grinds upwards, a maddening friction that I can't make sense of. My tongue jumps, struggling to twist around a word I haven't spoken in months.

"Sol…"I stumble over it, my mouth as dry as sunbaked sand. "Solas…" I try again, growing dizzy and lightheaded. Something brushes up my arms, sliding up and up until a weight rests on my shoulders. My breath stoppers in my throat, chest contracting as though someone is pressing a boulder against my sternum. The weight on my shoulders intensifies. Hands, I realize. My eyes dip down, taking in the sight of calloused pale fingers and pearly fingernails.

 _His_ hands.

"At last, you've called for me,  _da'len_."

"This isn't real," I tell him. Or myself. Or maybe both of us. A lazy chuckle fans across the back of my neck; a warm breath disturbs the fine silvery hair that rests against my ear. My stomach ties itself into a mess of knots. He laughs so rarely. I didn't even realize how much I missed hearing that sound.

"Still a matter of debate," he insists.

"Why…?"

"Why what?"

"Why now?" I can almost feel him smirk.

"Why not?"

"You left…" I accuse. I want to turn. I want to see him. But, I'm afraid. I'm not ready. Creators save me. I don't know if I'll  _ever_  be ready. I bite at my lip when I feel his fingers leave my shoulders and trace the ridges of my clavicle.

"You knew I would leave."

"No, I didn't…"

"Give yourself  _some_  credit, Inquisitor. You knew…"

"You said everything would be made clear," I frown. "After Corypheus. After the battle. But, you lied. You told me you cared then you turned around and left." Like a hail of arrows, my words pick up speed. "I thought maybe after everything was over, you would…" I shake my head. "But, nothing is clear. I'm just as confused as I was before. You didn't explain  _anything_. You just…you just…damn you, Solas…" Words rush out of me in a flood of accusations. My heart rate accelerates until I feel as though I'm swimming against a current of a raging river. My nostrils flare, eyes stinging and throat hurting. What am I doing? This isn't how I wanted to react. This isn't what I imagined I would do if I ever saw him again. But, I can't stop. Some strange haze has fallen over me and taken control.

"I misjudged the situation," he sighs.

"Misjudged?" I falter, thrown off kilter by his nonchalant dismissal of everything I just said. What was I waiting for? An apology? Hadn't I already accepted that that would never happen? There's a thousand things I want to say – to shout at him. My head roars out insults while my heart screams questions in a hundred different voices. There's so much chaos that I can't even speak. Mouth thinning into a fine line of anger, I try to shrug out of his grasp, but he doesn't let me go. Instead, he pulls me against him.

"Turn around,  _ma vhenan_. Please." His voice cracks and breaks on the last word.

"Why, Solas? So that you can look into my eyes when you abandon me again?" I bite out past clenched teeth that throb in pain. "So you can say goodbye to me this time? What makes you think I'll let you hurt me again? What makes you think I'll – " Before I can finish my hateful tirade, I feel his cheek press against mine. He hugs me with his entire body. The small of my back presses against his hip. The inside of my thigh cradles his knee. I can feel every beat of his heart with my spine.

" _Vhenan,_ I…" then he says something in what I can only assume to be ancient Elven. The words are foreign, but the power of the  _Vir'abelasan_ sings in my blood the moment that the sounds swirl in my ears. What starts as a flow of cresting and lilting vowels and consonants becomes rhythmic speech. Some of it, I understand. Most of it, I don't.

"… _I know that you won't understand. I know…must be alone. But, without you, I cannot find …Without…have lost sense of time…must hate...I know that I should…before you again…my heart…emptier than the darkness of the eternal sleep…"_

Something inside me snaps. I don't know whether it's my resolve to hate him, my need to spite him, or my will to resist him. I don't know what this means and I don't know if this is real or not. I don't know, and I don't care. All I'm sure of is that my heart – the thing which I thought was dead and lifeless – is now bursting with fresh agony. His voice is my undoing, a knife that cuts my shriveled heart into bloody ribbons. The things he's saying don't make sense, and they don't need to.

"Solas," I gasp as I slip out of his grasp and whirl around. But, by the time I make a full turn, he's gone. An empty room greets me as it always does in the waking world. 

"Solas!"

Silence.

"Solas… _na mara san_ …"

Nothing. Not even a footprint remains where he stood just moments ago. The room is uninhabited - vacant - covered in a new layer of dust that now rains from the ceiling of the tower. I don't know what to do or how to react to this. Was it just another trick after all? Was it just an illusion of the Fade? I can't rationalize it. His voice was so real, his warmth so tangible. And the things he said...Confused and trembling, I fall to my knees and crawl to the nearest wall. I'm shaken by what just happened; too disturbed to move anymore. I look out the window and wait…

…wait for my mind to decide it's had enough…

…wait for myself to wake up…


End file.
